“Blue, I need you so much. I want you so much.”
And his face rose in my mind . . . the way he had looked as he told me he wouldn't follow me down “that road.” I broke away, panting, my legs still locked around him, his arms braced around my body.
“Do you want me, Wilson? Do you want me? Or do you love me?” The words rushed out of me, and Wilson's eyes were heavy with passion, his lips a breath away, seeking me again, as if he hadn't registered the question. I pulled back further, denying myself, denying him. His brow furrowed and he nipped at my lips, pulling my head toward him, demanding more. I resisted, even as my body trembled with need. I unlocked my legs from his waist, letting my feet find the floor. I smoothed my skirt down, grateful that my legs held me. If I didn't stop now, I wouldn't have the strength to say no. And tonight I had to say no.
Wilson looked dazed, as if all reason had left him.
“Blue?”
“I saw it when you looked at me tonight. You were disgusted. You looked at me like I was . . . cheap.” I took a deep breath. “But I'm not that girl anymore. And so you need to go. Please.” My voice wasn't strong, but it was firm. Wilson seemed stunned. He ran his hand along the back of his neck, confusion and remorse warring in his eyes.
I moved beyond him and opened the door. I waited next to it, my heart in my throat.
“Please, Wilson,” I entreated. He moved as if he didn't know what else to do, stepping slowly into the foyer beyond my door like a man who has just suffered a terrible shock. I closed the door behind him and waited, my ear pressed against it, until I heard his footsteps move away. They tread heavily upon the stairs. I locked the door and knelt, retrieving the picture that had fallen to the floor. Jimmy's face stared back at me, but it was my own that drew me in. A little girl with long braids, longer than Jimmy's but plaited just like his were. I was missing my two front teeth, and I smiled gleefully, mugging for the camera in all my toothless glory. Jimmy didn't smile, but his arm was wrapped around me, and I clung to it as naturally as he held me to him. As if I were precious. As if I were loved.
There was a crack in the glass. I hung the picture back up anyway, straightening it carefully. The crack separated the top half of our bodies from the lower half. Luckily, the picture wasn't damaged. We were still whole beneath the jagged scar. I stopped, considering. I was scarred, but I was not broken. Beneath my wounds I was still whole. Beneath my insecurities, beneath my pain, beneath my struggle, beneath it all, I was still whole.
I dimmed the lights and slipped out of my dress in quiet contemplation. And then, above my head, music began. I walked to the living room and lifted my face to the vent, listening. Wilson tuned and tightened the strings, plucking and playing as he went. And as I listened, I was filled with wonder. Willie Nelson. Wilson was playing Willie Nelson. “You Were Always on my Mind” had never sounded so sweet. It was as if it had been written for the cello, though I doubted most people would even recognize Willie Nelson in Wilson's arrangement. He played it several times before he left it, as if needing to make sure that I heard. And then it was quiet above me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I awoke to pounding on my door the next morning. I had tossed and turned all night, restless with lust and love, weary with doubt, wondering if I should have taken what Wilson was clearly offering.
“Blue! Blue! Open up! I need to talk to you!”
“Holy crap!” I moaned, sliding out of bed and pulling on a bra, a pair of jeans, and a T-shirt as Wilson continued to pound.
I opened the door, letting him in, but I immediately retreated to the bathroom. He followed me, and I quickly shut the door in his face. I used the toilet, brushed my teeth and hair, and scrubbed my face free of all the makeup I'd gone to bed in. Wilson was still waiting outside the bathroom door when I opened it. He took in my freshly scrubbed face, his eyes lingering on my mouth. Without a word, he slid his arms around me and buried his face in my hair. I gasped, caught completely off-guard. He just held me tighter.
“I think it's time to end this,” he whispered against my hair.
I tried to pull away from him, rejecting him before he rejected me. It was easier that way. But he tightened his arms and soothed me with shhhing sounds.
“Shh, Blue. Just listen.”
I held myself very stiff, trying not to be distracted by his scent, by the way his arms felt around me, by his lips in my hair, by my desire to keep him there.
“End what?” I finally responded.
“This not knowing business.”
“What don't you know, Wilson?”
“I know a lot more than I used to, Blue. What number are we on now? I've lost count. What were some of them? I know you're brilliant. You're beautiful. You're incredibly brave. You have a wicked sense of humor. You carve unbelievable works of art . . . not totem poles.” I relaxed against him, smiling into his chest. “You have lousy taste in mates . . . although since I count myself among them, I might have to amend that one.”
“Tiffa says you have terrible taste in women, so maybe we're even,” I interrupted.
“I don't have terrible taste in women. I'm mad about you, aren't I?”
“Are you?”
“Yes, Blue. I am. I am completely gone on you.”
The feeling that surged in me was tempered by confusion and doubt.
“What about Pamela?”
“She kisses like an old woman,” he said softly.
I laughed, my heart immediately lighter.
“I told her last night that I was in love with you. Funny thing is, I think she already knew.”
I curled my hands into his shirt and took a deep breath, waiting for the axe to fall, because I could feel he had a lot more to say. He paused, maybe wondering if I would declare my feelings, too. When I remained silent, he sighed and spoke again.